the exclusive use of saints' names from the calendar. Another
example of the same reaction is the use of Old Testament names, and
"Ananias and Sapphira were favourite names with the Presbyterians."
It is only fair to add that these names are no longer popular with
Presbyterians, at any rate in the Kirk of Scotland. The old Puritan
argument was that you would hardly select the name of too notorious
a scriptural sinner, "as bearing testimony to the triumph of grace
over original sin." But in America a clergyman has been known to
decline to christen a child "Pontius Pilate," and no wonder.

Entries of burials in ancient times often contained some
biographical information about the deceased. But nothing could
possibly be vaguer than this: "1615, February 28, St. Martin's,
Ludgate, was buried an anatomy from the College of Physicians."
Man, woman, or child, sinner or saint, we know not, only that "an
anatomy" found Christian burial in St. Martin's, Ludgate. How much
more full and characteristic is this, from St. Peter's-in-the-East,
Oxford (1568): 'There was buried Alyce, the wiff of a naughty
fellow whose name is Matthew Manne.' There is immortality for
Matthew Manne, and there is, in short-hand, the tragedy of "Alyce
his wiff." The reader of this record knows more of Matthew than in
two hundred years any one is likely to know of us who moralise over
Matthew! At Kyloe, in Northumberland, the intellectual defects of
Henry Watson have, like the naughtiness of Manne, secured him a
measure of fame. (1696.) "Henry was so great a fooll, that he never
could put on his own close, nor never went a quarter of a mile off
the house," as Voltaire's Memnon resolved never to do, and as Pascal
partly recommends.

What had Mary Woodfield done to deserve the alias which the Croydon